Nightcaller Temple
by DagmarIceBlade
Summary: Erandur takes advantage of Dagmar Ice-Blade while she recounts his memories. (Lemon, warning for dub-con, written for the Skyrimkinkmeme.)


Written for the Skyrimkinkmeme!

Spoilers for the Daedric (Vaermina) quest with Erandur in Dawnstar.

The original prompt asked for something involving Erandur taking advantage of the Dragonborn while she is unconscious. Bonus points for her… waking up halfway through…

**Warning:** **dub-con**. Please don't read if you don't want to read dub-con!

* * *

Erandur's explanation about the Nightcaller Temple and what plagued Dawnstar had seemed straightforward enough. More Daedric meddling in the lives of mortals – no, this hadn't been the first time Dagmar Ice-Blade had been called on by either a Daedric prince themselves or a mortal who they bothered. She was not as familiar with Vaermina, though, and the nightmares and memories being stolen from the people of Dawnstar sent shivers down her spine. Reason enough to help the Dunmer clear out the temple.

The first priests and orcs they encountered in the temple had just woken up. They looked as if they had slept for an age, eyes straining against the light and somewhat uncoordinated movements as they drew their sword or readied a spell. One priest was able to singe Dagmar's blonde locks with some lightning, but she froze him as her sword cut him down. She wasn't called Ice-Blade for nothing.

When they reached a glowing, impossible to breach barrier, their quest became much more complicated – as anything concerning Daedra often did. Erandur confessed to being a former priest of Vaermina, who ran away when the temple was overrun by orcs. But he had returned now, ready to deal with his past.

His confession tugged her heart strings more than she had anticipated. His red elven eyes narrowed, he ran a hand through the hair under his cowl and exhaled with stocky breaths before explaining that he fled, leaving his brothers and sisters to die. Dagmar commended his courage for returning and asking for the help of a stranger.

To bypass the barrier, they searched for a potion called Vaermina's Torpor, to enter some strange altered state of consciousness called the Dreamstride. It sounded more like cheap skooma than anything else. Not that she'd know anything about _that_, of course. She much preferred mead. However, Erandur made it clear he could not drink the potion. "I've sworn my allegiance to Mara, and the touch of Vaermina will not work on me. Only her priests and the unafflicted can drink it."

Dagmar opened her mouth to say something about Hircine and Meridia and how she doubted she was 'unafflicted', but kept it to herself. "What will happen when I'm in the Dreamstride?"

"You'll be viewing the memories of another through your own eyes and your own body. Those around you will perceive you as normal, and you may find the words you utter may not be your own," he explained in an almost raspy voice.

"What will happen with me in the mean time?"

"I will watch over you as you slumber to ensure your safety. If I deduce anything is amiss, I will use my arts to bring you back."

Dagmar didn't like the prospect of being the toy of any Daedric prince, let alone one who feasted on memories and dreams, but someone had to do it. She scowled even as she nodded in understanding.

They rummaged through the overturned cabinets and broken chests in the laboratory of the temple, sorting through the ingredients and potions, until she found it: a large turquoise bottle, its contents strangely iridescent in the scarce light of the lab.

Erandur breathed a sigh of relief when she showed him the bottle, but his expression turned dark and serious immediately. "I've taken us this far, but now you need to guide us the rest of the way. _Drink_," he commanded, and his eyes narrowed as he did.

Dagmar hesitated. This was it, then. "You're certain this works?"

"There is no other way," Erandur answered, his eyes burning into her with fiery Dunmer determination. "Do not worry, I'll watch over your body as you enter the Dreamstride."

With a heavy sigh, steeling herself for the experience to come, she unplugged the flask and drank down its contents.

* * *

Erandur watched as the Nord drank Vaermina's Torpor, emptying the bottle. She staggered, and with the last of the liquid, she sagged to the floor of the laboratory, slowly and gently guided by the Dunmer. Now he had to wait and hope Vaermina did not consider Dagmar's memories and dreams too fascinating, or she may never wake up again.

She breathed easily at first, which he took as a good sign. He sat down next to Dagmar, watching her breathe, her chest moving slowly. Her mouth moved, her full lips forming syllables and words in her sleep.

Whose memories would she live? Part of him was relieved he could not enter the Dreamstride himself for his devotion to Mara, while the other part of him was intensely curious and jealous about what she would see and experience. He had served Vaermina long enough to know the arts her priests were capable of, and the temptation to indulge in these dark rituals.

Without knowing what he knew, she had still gone in with just the slightest hesitation, trusting his word that this was the only way.

He would have to thank her profusely for taking the risk.

And for not abandoning him on the spot when he confessed his previous connections to the Daedric prince. Indeed, she had only nodded in understanding, possibly the first one who hadn't refused him when he related his story.

Her breath quickened for a moment, and he studied her face. She had only been in the Dreamstride for a few minutes, certainly she would not have accomplished her task yet?

With a soft touch, he stroked her jawline and her lips. If the Torpor was working, the touch wouldn't disturb her. Nothing would disturb her but being woken by Vaermina herself. She was a beautiful lady, but one with a battle-worn face. Dark rings under her eyes showed she didn't sleep well, a pink scar across her eyebrow and nose betrayed her tendency to get up close to her enemies with that ice-touched sword she used.

Gratitude and admiration turned to a dark desire that suddenly overwhelmed him, shooting up from his loins, and he traced his finger along her throat and another scar across it that he only now noticed was there. She was so strong and fearless. Those lips would laugh in the face of any danger. He touched them softly with his, carefully to not disturb her breathing, and he tasted sweet mead on her lips. The touch made him shiver.

Erandur froze, exhaling deeply against her cheek. Should he do this? In that strange and _twisted_ way, her vulnerability made it all the sweeter to touch the skin not covered by her elven armor. Wondering how she would look underneath all the armor – would she have as many scars across her arms and legs as she had on her face? – he cupped her cheek with his hand.

What fate had guided her to him? He kissed her again, his tongue tracing her lips and sucking on the edge of her mouth.

_By Azura, Erandur, these actions will only lead to pain and regret._

And he kissed her again.

* * *

Dagmar dearly wanted to sigh with relief, but this unknown body wouldn't let her. She spoke words she didn't choose, and she moved with a determination that she did not possess. And now, the fighting of orcs and priests behind her, her companion in the dream had unleashed the Miasma. The world seemed to return to normal, but the dream-like quality remained. The barrier was still in place, but she could see its source now: a soul gem. Carefully she took it from the holder with her ghostly hand. With that, the shimmering purple barrier disappeared into nothingness.

Only then did the vague lightness of the dream dissipate, replaced by darkness. Her eyes felt closed shut, and she had difficulty moving her arms and legs. This must be the worst hangover she ever had, and that said something considering how enthusiastically she downed mead. She groaned, desperately trying to move her arms to rub away the sleep from her eyes.

Something warm pressed her whole body down. Perhaps she was still dreaming, lost in the spell of the Dreamstride, her thoughts turned to the memories of somebody else in a perverse play by Vaermina. Still, the warmth and the feeling of something touching her was more real and direct than what she had experienced just moments before.

Her arms moved. Shakily, but they moved. She brought them up to rub her eyes open, but they met whatever emanated this much warmth on top of her. She touched it, feeling something soft but solid, and before she could realise it, it moved towards her neck, touching it, warm and wet.

All the nerves along her body turned _on_, and an overwhelming warmth not only spread along her whole body, but between her legs, too. Everything seemed warm, and she squirmed, trying desperately to reach her eyes. She needed to _see_ what was going on.

She pulled her eye lids open, and she saw the red eyes of a Dunmer looking down on her. He wasn't wearing his cowl, he wasn't wearing anything. And neither was she.

"Gods… Erandur…? What are you doing?" she called out, trying to wrest her arms between them to push him away. He had pinned her down quite effectively, though.

Dagmar could hardly read his face through the dream that only slowly left her. His raw intensity made her avert her eyes after a long uncomfortable moment. Then he kissed her, roughly, sucking on her lips, tracing them with his tongue. She felt her lips swell. His touch wasn't altogether unpleasant. Unbidden, a moan escaped her.

The heat emanating from his body warmed her skin where they touched, and when she had wrested her hands on his shoulders during his kiss, she knew she would miss it. Still, she pushed him away so he had to stop licking her lips.

"Answer me, elf!" she growled.

He froze, his eyes darting around her face, this time avoiding _her_ eyes.

"Dagmar… I…" he started, voice rasping. A long moment passed, until he said with the same forcefulness that he commanded her to drink the Torpor: "I want you." And he pushed himself down on her, kissing her with tongue and teeth and sucking on her lips relentlessly, and grinding himself against the inside of her thigh.

She moaned under him, squirmed, but for some reason didn't push him away. She knew she could. The heat between her legs flared up yet again, almost overwhelming her thoughts still dreamy and unreal from the Dreamstride. She had been wet from the moment of waking, she realised. His onslaught of kisses, now trailing along her throat, softly biting her collarbone, only made her go with the flow. "Damn you, elf," she muttered, wrapping her arms around him and letting her fingers slide into his hair. She pulled his head up, glad to feel the strength in her limbs, and pulled him in for a kiss of her own.

Erandur grunted at her pull and then moaned into her kiss. He answered with a thrust of his hips that pushed him against her entrance. She gasped. He thrust again, his tip sliding past her wet folds, into her. A shiver shot through her body.

With his next thrust, Erandur gave such a low, growling moan, that Dagmar felt his chest vibrate against hers.

"Come on, then," she whispered, "show me what you're made of." He looked her in the eyes while rhythmically going in and out, and Dagmar challenged him with eyes as well as she did with her words.

"I will," he answered with a low growl.

Dagmar's resistence had been dwindling and she was unwilling to let it stand in the way any longer. Pulling her hips in a better position, he filled her with every thrust, and with every thrust she felt the tension increase.

He came with a primal groan, which flared up her own pleasure all the more, hot flashes of _want_ surging through her arms. He kept on going, thrusting harshly against her until she unwound as well. Muscles flexed and stretched, her skin shivered and the release surged through her.

Dagmar panted, her body for a few moments still tingling, but at last coming to terms with having left the Dreamstride. That experience screwed with your mind.

She was _not_ coming to terms with Erandur yet.

She rose, her arms becoming once more harsh and strong from wielding the blade and fighting dragons. She pulled the Dunmer up by his shoulders and pushed him against the cold stone.

* * *

"You could have just asked. Could have shown me the courtesy of courting me, of finding a nice room with a warm bed."

Erandur, still panting from the exertion, weakly grabbed one of her wrists, to no avail. "Court you?" he muttered. He had just, simply put, fucked her, and she was worried about being courted? Those strange Nords with their strange customs…

"You're a lousy lover." She spat at the stone next to his head, her eyes of fire, even though they were an emerald shade of green. Mara, the strength of this woman.

She pushed him from her grasp, and he winced when his head collided with the stone behind it. With one hand he grabbed at the hot place on his head, certain a bruise would develop soon.

He had pushed any thought of the aftermath from his mind, his trailing fingers exploring her body, until this moment. What in the world could he say to her? He decided it was for the best that she had woken up halfway through, any other conversation would have been far more awkward.

Everything about Dagmar told him she was seething. Her angry glances only fortified his fear that he had made the worst mistake of his life.

"Get dressed, you miserable elf, we still have a Skull of Corruption to destroy."

Still so focused on what she had set out to do. Reluctant, but admiring her determination, he rose to put his clothes back on and pulled the cowl a little further over his head than usual. "You… dispelled the barrier?" he asked, his voice sounding remarkably normal.

"I have."

Her sword hung at her hip again. Her battle scars were suddenly no longer just fascinating, but terrifying, as well.

She led them through the corridors and halls that he had called home once. Her anger translated in how ferociously she attacked the first waking priests and orcs, leaving the mutilated bodies behind. Setting his own mace and magic to work, Erandur banished his doubts of why she didn't take it out on him, and watched the Nord's back while she cut her way through the temple.

* * *

Dagmar's anger had waned somewhat, glad she had enemies to take it out on. She drove her sword through another priest and realised she had actually kissed Erandur back and challenged him to continue. She exhaled sharply and cursed the elf for getting under her skin like that.

The Skull of Corruption, surrounded by a protective aura and guarded by two more priests, finally stood before them.

"Varen… Thorek… you're alive," a surprised Erandur behind her said.

"No thanks to you, Casimir," the Dunmer spat, his mace at the ready in one hand, and a shock spell in the other.

Casimir… the name her companion in the Dreamstride had used. She had witnessed the memories of Erandur? And these two were his former colleagues, or friends? She would have to discuss this with him… or perhaps not, forgoing her usual loyalty to those she met and letting the anger rise yet closer to the surface. Her thoughts torn between the two options, the situation she had found herself in a few moments ago still fresh in her mind, she almost missed the end of the conversation.

Just in time, she avoided the mace of one of the priests and let herself slip into the adrenaline rush of battle. Before long they all lay dead at their feet, and Erandur stared at the bodies. She gave him a shove with her hand. She could have hit him, let her blade take his life as it took his former colleagues. But she didn't want to and a remarkably soft side to her hoped her push hadn't been too harsh. When he did not respond, she shoved him again. "The Skull, Erandur."

He moved, keeping quiet, and averted himself from her. Was this the man who had taken advantage of her? The fight with his former friends might be over, she saw a battle still taking place in the man's poise. From defeated, he went to sad and to finally end at determination.

His head perked up again, facing the staff head-on, and even stealing a sideway glance to her when he said: "First, to get rid of the barrier."

He cast a spell and then a deceptively sweet voice called in Dagmar's head.

"Erandur's deceiving you. He wants to claim the Skull for himself. He will turn on you once the ritual is complete and claim you as well! Kill him now, quickly, and claim the Skull for yourself. Vaermina commands you!"

Kill him? An interesting thought, if it not for the fact it came from a Daedric prince who _steals dreams and memories for her own amusement_. Whatever she would do when the Skull was banished would _not_ be for Vaermina's perverse sense of humor, but rather her own. "Bugger off, Vaermina," she muttered under her breath.

Ignoring Vaermina, murder was not on her mind when Erandur lost himself in the trance of the ritual to banish the staff. She grinned. The tables turned, didn't they? She thought he deserved to have somebody return the favour.

Those same hands that released the magical energies now, had stroked her and explored her before he actually lay himself on top of her, and the thought sent a shot of heat to her core. And the lips murmuring the words of his spell had kissed her. He was a handsome elf. He showed courage and determination. And he was even mischievous and a little depraved, which she had never expected in a priest of Mara. She would return the favour.

With soft steps Dagmar positioned herself behind him, waiting until he finished the ritual. Her face hovered close to his shoulder, smelling some of the sweat from fighting? Finally, his arms lowered, indicating the end of the ritual. The staff disappeared. With the speed of a sabre cat, she hooked both his arms behind his back, and pushed him against the wall on the altar.

"Done, Erandur?" she said, her voice dark and threatening.

"Yes, the Skull is destroyed," he replied, his voice strangled from having the air knocked from him.

"Good…" She pulled his cowl off his head and her breath caressed his cheek and ear.

"Whatever you see fit to inflict upon me, I probably deserve it."

"Vaermina told me to kill you."

Erandur grunted at that, his eyes widening.

"Told me you would claim the Skull for yourself. I'm glad my trust in you wasn't misplaced that time."

He closed his eyes, and she felt the strength leaving his arms. "Thank you for not aiding Vaermina in her plans. Without you, the people of Dawnstar would still be suffering from nightmares."

She grunted. She couldn't very well continue to threaten him now, could she? She wanted to exact her revenge on him, take him, but his willingness to submit to her – his limp arms, the relaxed torso that she could push against the stone easily – made it less the revenge she sought and more taking advantage.

But that was exactly what he had done to her.

She turned him around, but kept him pushed against the stone. Whatever he thought, he looked at her with a calm expression. He would _let her_.

* * *

Again, her eyes burned with a repressed anger, and Erandur had only a sliver of hope that it wasn't hate. And he held a similarly small sliver of hope he would leave Nightcaller Temple alive. Vaermina had planted a seed in her mind, it must be, and she would freeze his bones with that sword of hers before taking his life.

"Talk to me, Erandur!"

It wasn't just wrath in her voice anymore, but his throat was suddenly dry and he knew not what to say. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, and tried again, but no words would come.

She really was beautiful. Could he tell her –

And then her lips locked with his, roughly and punishingly. Her tongue immediately grazed across his lips, and he unwillingly moaned into her as he opened his mouth to let her tongue claim him. Her lips so soft, but her kiss so rough. Her hands left his shoulders and reached his torso, grabbing him roughly with each attack of her lips on his.

As sudden as the kiss had begun, she broke it off, wiping her lips absently with one hand, her eyes half closed in some unreadable expression. Then she pulled away completely, distantly observing him.

With almost complete certainty he knew she would kill him then, especially after that kiss... In his mind's eye she drew her blade and ran him through, and he sagged to the floor in a moment of terror and some instinct of survival wanting to run away, but in the knowledge he fully deserved his fate.

"Follow," she commanded instead, hoarsely, and she turned on her heel and walked back through the temple.

Relief overwhelmed him, his life not yet lost, but a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him. _Only pain and regret, Erandur._

"I saw your memories," she murmured as they left the central hall. "As you released the Miasma."

Erandur winced. "You must have seen my flight as well, then."

"No, the dream ended there."

"Why do you tell me this?"

She stopped in the bedroom, beds lined up in neat rows. "To let you know, I saw what you saw, I spoke your words. The dream I had was _you_." The look she gave him was as intimidating as that scar that ran along her throat. "Strip."

He had meant what he said: he deserved all she could do to him. He hadn't expected she would ask for this. For more.

Still, she had _hesitated_ to order him. Was there nothing about this woman he couldn't admire? For a moment he raised an eyebrow, then quickly set to work throwing his weapons and cowl away from him and then his robe. She watched him like a predator as his breeches and boots joined the small heap of clothes.

Spurred on by anticipation and fear, he had begun to untie the knots to his loincloth, but she did not want that. "No, leave it. Now help me take off my armor." She added snidely: "You know how it's strapped onto me by now."

* * *

Feeling his hands on her body, and his attention to what he did as he undid the straps and pulled off each piece of her armor, made her wish for nothing else at this moment. He had wanted her, and now she wanted him. On a _bed_. She hoped that gesture wasn't lost on the elf. She simply stood as the pile of her armor grew, and more and more of her skin was bare, watching what it did to Erandur, following his gaze as he looked at her.

He finished, leaving her in just her smallclothes. She simply looked at him, drank in the athletic shapes of his body – equally tall as she – and the scowl Dunmer always seemed to wear on their grey faces. His red eyes stared at her, as though he waited patiently for her.

"What do you want?" he asked in that gravelly voice of his.

She bridged the few feet that had been between them quicker than she thought, her lips locked onto his, her hand slid through his hair and she pulled him close to him. His naked skin against hers was intoxicating, her breasts still in their bindings, and she knew the yearning would grow as the cloth would be pulled away. Her senses flooded with none but thoughts of claiming him as she kissed him furiously.

Only long moments later did he respond by carefully embracing her with his arms, laying one of his hands right across the breast binding around her back, his finger sliding along the edge. She moaned into the kiss as images of him simply tearing the cloth away and feel the skin underneath played and replayed in her mind. His lips only softly, perhaps even respectfully, returned.

She pushed him away from her, onto one of the beds and sat on top of him. "You have a way of getting under my skin, Erandur," she whispered, her voice low and husky. And she kissed his cheek and ear, and heard him desperately attempt to suppress a moan, but failing. Her tongue slid along his ear and to the tip, and he grabbed her shoulders and neck probably more forcefully than he had wanted to.

"Dagmar," he said, with the greatest difficulty of keeping his deep voice somewhat steady, "I'm sorry." His fingers relaxed somewhat, and she grinned devilishly. At her next lick across the tip of his ear, the fingers with which he held her tightened only slightly, if only through his conscious effort. Instead, he moaned.

Suddenly she froze, and looked at him. "Erandur, have you ever kissed a woman between her legs?"

"I have."

"I want you to kiss me, right now." She rolled off him.

* * *

Erandur rose and felt blood rushing to his cheeks. That was a long time ago. Perhaps even before he had joined the cult of Vaermina with its celibatic way of life. But more than the fear of doing something new, he _wanted_ to do this. He fixed his eyes on her.

Her legs hung off the side of the bed, her feet softly touching the stone floor, and she softly grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to his knees on the floor. She still had her smallclothes on, but taking them off he could do, taking this one step at a time. He was quite certain of the flushed cheeks and tips of his ears as he hooked his fingers around the small pieces of cloth and tugged it from her hips, slowly. She watched intently, and he returned the gaze.

He kneaded her thighs – another thing he knew he could do – and kissed them with hungry kisses, licking the soft skin with a strong forceful licks. Dagmar had thrown her arms to the sides of her head, and breathed heavily. Fear loosened its grip on him. Lost in the Dreamstride, he had caressed the warrior woman across her body, had felt every curve and traced every scar he could find. But not with his mouth.

A sharp exhale – in reality because he was steeling himself – brought a soft moan from her, and he looked at her in surprise for a moment. Then he realised he had breathed against her curls and her folds, and he blew softly across them again.

He licked her folds. She gasped. So he licked her again, and when she gasped yet again, he carefully parted them with his tongue, and explored her. She was as soft and wet as she had been before. And now she lay on the bed, softly moaning, her pleasure at the tip of his tongue.

Why she had asked him to do this, he couldn't say. Considering the fury in her eyes, he had expected her to get even, a quick and dirty fuck. He softly nibbled one of her folds, and was glad it wasn't. He could do more of this. Rougher than before, he sucked on her nub and the area around it, and she moaned a little louder. Her noises spurred him on, and he sucked a little harsher still, tracing his hands across her hips and abdomen settling just at the edge of the breast binding that she still wore. Again she was so vulnerable towards him, though he had no doubt she would lash out if she didn't like what he did. His hands held her waist, grabbing onto it, wishing to enter her with more than just his tongue.

Her soft moans continued, their sweet sounds gathering the tension in his own loins. His kisses became rougher still, and he didn't keep to her folds alone, but kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh before flicking his tongue across her most sensitive spot again.

"Erandur," she breathed as she rose somewhat. He looked up at her, still licking her, almost seductively. Nothing in her face showed any displeasure. "Get up on the bed," her tone less commanding than before.

He gave her one last graze of his lips, along her folds and her curls, before climbing over her and settling next to her on the bed. She traced his jaw and the small beard he sported, down his lithe chest across his ribs. The reponse of his body – although already stiff – made him twitch as she continued the combined kissing and stroking. He stroked the hand and the arm that followed his body, the touch raising the hairs along her arms, before snaking its way to her breast binding. A sharp tug, and she moaned in his ear when it grazed along her nipples, hanging around her waist.

He smirked with a devilish self-satisfaction and she glared at him, a moment of fear creeping up, but all she did was massage his ears some more. His hands flexed again, grabbing hold of her waist as he melted into her touch and in her arms, too caught up to immediately respond to her question.

"Do I have you undivided attention?" she asked. Another tug on his ears came in punishment at his silence.

"Yes, Dagmar, you do." He groaned at her voice and her fingers.

"Good." She turned and straddled his waist, her core pushed against his shaft.

* * *

Even now, she wondered what he would do if she let him. She shook her head at herself. Here was Dagmar Ice-Blade, wondering what she would want a man to do to her? Not just spend the night as lovers, but as _him taking her_?

Not now, in any case. He owed her, and didn't seem to mind her claiming it. May Mara have mercy on her.

"You _owe me this_, Erandur," she whispered, as she ground herself against him, burying him in a possessive kiss again. She held his face in her hands, pulling him close until their teeth clank together, and he grunted from the pressure. Only then did she release him.

"Dagmar, as long as you don't kill me, anything." A quiver in his voice hinted of something more than chosing to submit to her.

"Kill you?" she said, "I will not kill you."

He responded not in words. With a moan, he wrapped his arms around her almost gratefully, reaching for her lips with his, but she withdrew from him.

"Why did you think I would kill you?" she whispered.

"Vaermina…"

"Vaermina can order me to kill Mehrunes Dagon, and I would not even consider it."

"You are stronger than me." Admiration lay clear in his eyes and voice, before he pulled her in for the kiss he had been planning to give her. Dagmar kissed him back just as fierce, and before long, ground herself against him again, her fluids making his shaft slick.

Guiding him with her fingers, she teased his top against her entrance and in one fluid motion descended on him. She cried out, the hot surge of pleasure once again rolling through her, holding his shoulders as she came to terms with the delightful feeling of taking him in her. Erandur's head fell back, moaning without the concern that had plagued him.

Her rhythm was slow at first, digging her fingers into his shoulders and holding him fast with each descent. But she sped up, the friction becoming delicious and her body flushed.

She felt his hands run up her sides, but she grasped them away from her and shook her head deliberately. Instead, she pulled his hands to his head, resting them there as she continued her movements, using him to push herself up. So she continued for long minutes, intoxicated by the feeling, but resisting his silent requests for release of his hands. Not yet, Erandur. She gazed into his eyes.

As her grip softened, his hands immediately slid along her chest, caressing and then cupping her breasts, before finally settling on her hips. They pulled her down every time she descended on him. She moaned as the coil unwound and release made her throw her head back, when he found his release as well.

She rested her face against his neck, panting. He pulled her down on the bed, arms wrapped around her. She was as unwilling as him to release to the cold, and embraced him in her own arms, fingers tangling with his hair.

His red eyes were yet again determined, less obscured by unneeded fear, and… exhausted. He closed them.

"Forgiven, elf," she whispered, and he opened his eyes again.

"You surprise me, Nord."

"The feeling is mutual, Dunmer." Just a hint of her snideness had returned. Had she truly forgiven him? "Just don't ever do that again."

* * *

Erandur only nodded, his eyes once again closing. He would not.

He felt his thoughts dissolve in sleep and dreams. The strain of driving out Vaermina and dealing with his past would have been enough to exhaust him, but his actions towards Dagmar had only increased his fatigue. Drifting off, he was not afraid anymore of the Daedric prince snatching him back in her grasp, and fell into a deep sleep.


End file.
